


Pride of Lambs

by Schemilix



Series: Blood and Gold [9]
Category: Final Fantasy Tactics
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schemilix/pseuds/Schemilix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They crept in like a worm, and huge as a basilisk they devoured the Order from within.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride of Lambs

It began with the stone-seed, planted in the flesh of a man. The seed grew within his body and then his mind; the roots wound into the depths of him, and he did not resist.

Thus sown, the first branch extended into the inner circle of the order. A handful of knights in gold armour - officers, remnants from the clutch of the old commander and, increasingly, allies of the new. 

At first many joined him, swearing by their mouths: ambitious, or foolhardy, and two old friends, who had promised to follow him to Hell and back. They would take their oath literally.

The Lion, master of Law, of oaths, could scent fealty and betrayal like sickness. Finding it sour he pounced, one at a time. Two remained, soaked in the blood of their brothers.

One - green-robed, like he had been. A faith to the order greater than loyalty to his Master. It was the initiates who found him, gored in a tree as if by a great cat. Heretic, they said. A daemon took him during a black mass.

Heresy? The examiners appeared like fungus, sensing rot. He gave them a veteran white-robe like a lamb. Under torture he would confess to killing his own mother, even though she was not yet dead. His sacrifice held still the symbol of Holy Ajora, even as he burned.

The red-robe ran away. His throat was missing before he could make the mistake of talking - as well as most of his body. A behemoth lumbered away and pressed a gore-soaked snout into the gauntlet of his master.

The blue-robe, she looked merely asleep. Magicks had stopped her heart like a whisper.

And then the initiates, cut like grass. 

Take the children away. They must not see.

Finally he stood before them, huge in form but still it seemed his body could not contain the intense force within it. When he spoke the words came from their hearts as much as the mouth of the Hume who spoke. 

_Brothers, sisters - our order is stricken as if by plague. A terrible time this is, where blood spreads across the altar of the Gods like wine. We know now from where it flows._

And they shifted, looking to each side, noticing now that their brothers and sisters were armed in a church. Perhaps those few left without arms had been accused of this sedition - they dared not speak over the hiss of swords being drawn.

_It flows from all of us. The time has passed to prove yourself worthy of our Red Lady. You will be the first to slake a thirst that has waited a millennium. Farewell._

The Celebrant asked, then, for power.  
A war, to fracture the nations.  
A war - 

What remained of the Templarate, dressed as lambs of their lord, ran now in the pride of the Lion.


End file.
